Massoud's World

By Massoud Eghrari

This is the third volume of Massoud’s stories. This book contains seventy-nine short stories of his life experiences. As the Author’s paintings on the front cover illustrates, he likens his stories to different shapes and colorful ties that he has worn during his professional life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: May 23, 2011
• ISBN: 9781456763985

Massoud Eghrari

Dr. Massoud Eghrari was born in Tehran, Iran. He had his elementary and secondary school in that city. He graduated from American High School of Tehran (Alborz). Supported by his parents, Haj Shaban and Baheyeh Khanum, he was sent to Paris, France to study medicine. He graduated from the University of Paris Medical School. He came to the United States to pursue his specialty in the field of surgery. He started his private practice of surgery in Smithtown, New York where he practiced for 39 years. During this time, he became assistant professor of surgery at stony brook Medical School, President and then governor of the American College of Surgeons, Eastern Long Island Chapter. His first Marriage was to late Isabella Belyea Ryan with whom he had three children Mark Shaban, Jacqueline Shirine and Carolyn Kian and five grandchildren. Dr. Eghrari now resides in Naples, Florida with his new wife Tayabeh (Manijeh). He spends most of his time writing, painting and playing the santour (Persian musical instrument). He is a member of the Baha’i Faith and in many of his writings; Baha’i scriptures and ideas are mentioned.

Book preview

MASSOUD’S WORLD

by

MASSOUD EGHRARI M.D

missing image file

AuthorHouse™

1663 Liberty Drive

Bloomington, IN 47403

www.authorhouse.com

Phone: [phone]

© 2011 Massoud Eghrari M.D. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

First published by AuthorHouse 5/18/2011

ISBN: 978-1-4567-6398-5 (e)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-6399-2 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4567-6400-5 (sc)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2011906989

Printed in the United States of America

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models,

and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Certain stock imagery © Thinkstock.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Dedication

Acknowledgement

Alborz American High School Of Teheran

50Th Anniversary

My Uncle Davoud

The Car

Lola

The Horror

Opera Singer

God’s Plan

Caring Nurse

Mudslinging

Saint Louis Woman

The Master

The Knife

An American In New York

I Will Pay

Give It To Me

She Knew Too Much

The Healing Hand

Don’t Fool Mother Nature

The Center Of The Earth

Life Goes On

The Victim

Dressing Up

Polar Bear

Sistine Chapel Vatican

Flying

Samovar

Healer

The Vase

Ties

Why Me?

The Jungle

Freedom Day

New Generation

Slaves

Why?

Pigment

Work In Progress

Entertainment

Leaves Of One Branch

The Concert

Doctor’s Office

Secret

On The Other Side

I Got The Solution

Taking Attendance

Family Reunion

English Women

Track Record

Seniors

Fortune Telling

Cows In The Dark

Coronary Care Unit

The Wrong Key

Worried

Improvement

Perseverance

Yoga Class

Rose

Why The Old Man Cries

I Know The Feeling

La Noblesse Oblige

Dissapointed

Travelling In Egypt

World Apart

Pyramids

Hell Was Freezing

The Board Walk Of Naples

Suspicious

Prejudice

The Elevator

The Pool

Paris Revisited

Is A Doctor In The House?

The Ring

Baha’i Temple

The New Urologist

About The Author

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to the memory of Isabella Eghrari.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT

While this is a work of nonfiction, in order to protect their privacy the identity of some individuals and places has been disguised.

The author wishes particularly to thank his late wife Mrs. Isabella Eghrari for typing and editing large numbers of these stories during her lifetime. Also, he would like to sincerely thank Ms. Amita Puthran for typing and editing his recent writings.

ALBORZ AMERICAN HIGH SCHOOL OF TEHERAN

I had just finished the tenth grade at the neighborhood public school. I was in my summer vacation when one of my classmates Shoa Froughi, came to see me. He said, Yesterday I met our Chemistry teacher. He told me, I am leaving my position at the public school. Next September I will be teaching at Alborz, the private school. The teacher smiled like someone who has good news to tell. I had a conversation with the principal of my new school. He wants me to bring three top students along with me. I know this school is very expensive, but the Principal has promised me that the tuition will be free for these three students. Then he gave me your name and another of our friends and myself…" He said that I should tell both of you to go and see the Principal of Alborz as soon as possible.

When I heard this fantastic news, I was shocked, flattered and overjoyed. Going to Alborz was a big deal. The most famous and influential people from Iran had graduated from there. It was built as a boy’s school by the American missionaries in Teheran. It had several large brick buildings with lots of space for sports activities. It looked like any university campus in the United States. They had boarding students who came from all the other provinces. They were the sons of the rich land owners. Also, they had day students. For many years it was called the American high school. However twenty years after its inauguration, the Iranian government took it over and expelled all the American teachers and administrators. They renamed the school Alborz after the high mountains in the northern part of Iran. The quality and reputation of the school remained as excellent as before.

After I heard this good news, I spoke with my father. He couldn’t believe this was possible. He said, At the present I am paying a token tuition for your public school. The government is subsidizing the rest. At Alborz I will not have to pay anything. He continued, Do you know why they want to bring you to the American school? The principal wants the top ten best graduates to come from this private school and not from the other six high schools in Teheran.

The next day I went to see my new principal. I was sixteen years old and I was alone. He was a short man with jet black hair. He was about 45 years old. He wore a grey suit with a red tie. He was educated as an engineer in Switzerland. He was the Chairman of the Department of Engineering at Teheran University and at the same time he ran the high school. He lived with his family on the high school campus.

He received me courteously. I still remember his impressive, large office with an equally large desk next to a bay window. He was like the President of a college. He said I have heard of you and your excellent grades from your chemistry teacher. I want you to enroll in our school. As you know, your tuition will be free. I thanked him and in September of 1947 I started my eleventh grade. I graduated from 12th grade, fourth in my graduating class of 180 students. Recently I was looking at my graduation picture and noticed that more than fifty percent went out of Iran for university education in Europe and the United States.

50TH ANNIVERSARY

When I arrived at my house on Roushan Street it was about 1 pm, my parents were in the dining room having lunch. I was excited standing next to my father when I told them, Today when I passed in front of the French Embassy, I decided to go in and inquire if my visa had come in. The secretary of the embassy, Mr. Lazar who knew me from my many similar inquiries in the past told me yes, finally it has arrived from Paris and now you can go to France. My parents were surprised with the news, but I was not sure that it was the best for my future. I had already successfully passed the entrance exam to the School of Medicine of Teheran University and as an honor student I was selected among the first 200 students from 3000 applicants.

I sat down to lunch and we discussed the pros and cons of going to Paris to study medicine. This was a far away land with different languages and different set of customs, yet the cradle of all learning and above all the most exciting city in the world, the city of lights and bride of all cities. What would be more exciting than that for an 18-year-old high school graduate? My father broke into our conversation and with a confident voice told me, "It is best for you to go abroad; your future would be brighter.

I left my native town of Kashan when I was young. I became successful. If I stayed there I would not be where I am today.’’ The decision was made. I had less than 1 week to make preparations.

My father took me to the Bazaar. We bought a very large valise, a Robe de Chambre, a winter coat and finally, a Persian rug. I have never worn Robe de Chambre; it was gray in color with bright red velvet at its sleeve and collar. He thought that in Paris that would be necessary. His feeling on the Persian rug was that for me to remember my roots and on the practical side, if someday I run out of money, I would be able to sell it. We had 2 days of open house where all friends and relatives came to see me. There was lots of picture taking, I felt like a celebrity. To make the situation more famous, an ad was put in the main newspaper of Teheran (like the New York Times) announcing my imminent departure for Paris to study medicine and therefore more people were coming to see me.

The day of departure finally arrived. We all got up early morning. My father had chartered a bus to take all of my family, aunts, uncles, cousins and friends to the airport. At the airport I said goodbye to everyone. And I kissed my father for the first time. I did not know how painful it was for him and the family to let me go until many years later when my son was leaving our house to go to college only 150 miles away. This was the first and last time I kissed my father and this was the last time I saw him. I have the picture of this embrace in my possession. I was very excited to enter the airplane; I had never been on a plane before. I was the first person in all of my family to leave Iran to go to Europe and the first one to travel by air. When I occupied my seat on this K.L.M. plane it smelled like a new car; it was small with about 15 rows, 2 seats on each side, it was a 4-engine propeller type. The occupants consisted only of 4 Iranian students and Princess Ashraf, the sister of The Shah of Iran. The flying time between Teheran and Istanbul lasted about 4 hours. When we stopped at Istanbul Airport, we all were ushered in an ornate hall. The Iranian ambassador to Turkey was there to greet the Princess and we were tagging along with her, almost as a member of her court… In the reception hall there was a large table ornate with a Persian tablecloth with several bowls of fruit, cookies and candies. One of the fruits was a banana, yellowish green and long. I have never seen this fruit before and did not know that one has to peel the skin. When I ate it with its yellow cover, it did not taste good. After this short stop, we came back to the plane and continued to travel to Rome. The Princess never spoke to any of us and did not acknowledge us; she was sitting in the first row. At Rome Airport, The Princess descended and was met by the Iranian ambassador and left us. We continued our trip to Amsterdam; all 4 of us were taken to a hotel for an overnight stay and the next day a short tour of the city. In the afternoon we were back to the airport and with a small K.L.M. plane, we were going to Paris. After passing through immigration and customs, we traveled to the city of Paris by bus and we were left with our baggage in the middle of town, somewhere close to the Tomb of Napoleon. We were on our own. The party was over. None of us had any hotel reservation and no one was there to greet us.

My French was very poor and I knew only a few works from my high school French class. I asked a policeman to recommend a hotel and he advised me to go to Hotel du Bach on Rue du Bach. The hotel was a depressing building without an elevator; the overcast weather and loneliness and end of all excitement was not of any help. Fifty years later I am planning to go back to the City of Lights, bride of all cities, where my youth was spent and where most of my character was formed. I am going to Paris to commemorate my 50th anniversary of my arrival. I am much older, much wiser, but still young at heart; looking and searching the repeat of good times passed. I like to salute the past and in the words of an author to build a shrine to the best time of my youth and visit it as often as I desire.

MY UNCLE DAVOUD

The husband of my aunt was the intellectual of the family. At the time when travel to Europe or America was difficult or impossible for an Iranian, he had already been in Detroit, Michigan studying and had spent a few years in Paris, France.

When I was a young boy of 10, he was about 50. He was tall for a Persian. He had a lot of black hair combed back. He looked like a distinguished character that you would see in a 1920’s movie. His complexion was slightly dark and his eyes were protruded. He had an amiable and inviting smile.

It was in the middle of May that I heard several of my classmates making preparations to study abroad. I was envious of them but I didn’t know anybody who had traveled to Europe or America.

When I discussed my situation with my parents, thinking that they would try to get rid of me, my father